Harry Potter and the JFCIM
by Newaz
Summary: No, she couldn't be gone.. it was just an accident... just an accident... she couldn't really be gone... OR COULD SHE?


**Harry Potter and the JESUS FUCKING CHRIST INCOMING METEOR!**

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Chapter 1

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Harry Potter sighed a deep sigh and looked out his rain-spattered dorm window. He was leaving Hogwart's. For good. He just couldn't take the pressure anymore. It was time to go. For good. Because it just wasn't worth it. He had to leave. Leave now. Right now. For good.

"Harry?"

"AUGH!" Harry Potter was a jumpy fellow, constantly on-edge. Or more accurately, he had been ever since... the accident.

"Harry, what's wrong?" The sneaky intruder into Harry's room was Harry's good friend, Ron. Oh, Ron. Such a nice boy. About as sharp as a beach ball, he was. But still a nice boy. In his own way. I suppose.

Some thought so! Shut up! Bitch!

"Oh, Ron," Harry heaved, hand upon his chest as he caught his breath.

"You're... you're thinking about it, aren't you?" Ron frowned.

"..." Harry ...'d.

"...the accident," Ron intoned grimly.

"Ron!"

"Sorry!"

"..."

"..."

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"..."

"..."

"Don't be. It... wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, it was yours."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...er, I mean, you couldn't have done anything to save her, Harry."

"Yes I could've!"

"Yeah, you could've."

"..."

"...goddammit. Sorry."

"Fuck you, Ron!"

Screw that. Harry had taken enough of Ron's abuse. He wasn't going to sit there on his baby-blue quilted blanket that he had lovingly draped across his chair(only because of cushioning, mind you, he wasn't still attached to it like he was two weeks ago) and let that lump of ambulatory flesh he had thought of as his good friend pour the dark bubbling goopy semi-liquid of guilt pudding atop his head. He could do that very well on his own, thank you very much.

"Hey, come on, you know I wasn't..." Ron trailed off and frowned further, the frowny frown that had been a constant companion on his face ever since... the accident.

"I... I know, Ron. I've just been... you know." On edge. Jumpy. All those things and more, ever since... the accident. That was already explained, but here it is again. You know. Just in case.

"Naw."

"..wh-?"

"-I meant 'yeah'."

"Yeah."

Fuck Ron. Fuck him right in each of his sun-spotted face freckles. And his red hair also. Goddamn Ron. Harry didn't need this. He was a magician. Or a wizard. Warlock. Perhaps a magus. A conjurer, if you will. Sorcerer, if you won't. He had many names. Names that meant nothing to him now. Power to control the very fabric of reality with nothing but a magic wand and a few words meant nothing if you couldn't use it to save the only person you ever loved. And the only person he ever would love again.

"But you don't have to leave, Harry, we... we're your friends. Your family." Ron scrunched his face up a bit. He could've been sad. Who knows with Ron. Ron was an enigma to Harry, and to most everyone else as well. Never could he truly read Ron's intricate blending of words within words within sentences that always came from that head of his. There was always something behind his meanings, and behind those meanings also. It was almost... almost too crafty.

"I don't have any family. They're all dead. Including... including..." Harry choked up a bit. He couldn't even say her name. It was just... just too painful. Everyone had a hard time saying it, ever since... the accident.

"But.. you don't have to leave!" Ron's frown was different, much like his demeanor since... the accident. "There's still much you can learn here!"

"What could I possibly learn now that I would deem worthy of knowing!" Harry was angry now. Angry like a fox. That had been wounded deeply on the inside. By a horrible... horrible... accident. To someone else. "What, are you honestly suggesting I go into the deepest, darkest pits of the Hogwart's hidden underground library to unearth the skin-wrapped forbidden tomes locked inside the sealed obsidian chests buried within the secret iron tomb shrouded from mortal sight by powerful ancient wizardry, pore over every faded, worn page of diabolical evil magic until I find a horrible spell of such unspeakableness powerful, that I could rend apart the will of the creator and piece together a hideous unholy simulacrum'd doppleganger out of discarded medical waste and collected hair from the showers that only resembles her through the most barest description, just to have to resort to fashioning crude weaponry together from two sticks and an empty electrician's belt to fight back the monstrosity when it tries to wrap all three of its disgusting bloated appendages around me and devour my very soul right through my face?"

"What? That's absolutely horrible!" Ron was shocked. Apparently.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, putting his face in his hands. "It was."

"..what?"

"What?"

"What was?"

"What was what?"

"Horrible?"

"This is ALL horrible!" Harry stood up suddenly, banging his hand on a dressertop nearby to accentuate his point. "I'm a wreck, Ron! I can hardly sleep, I can hardly eat, I can hardly even go to the bathroom."

"Uh-huh. Ick."

Harry sunk back down into his chair, his more familiar look of wishy-washy weaksauceness coming back onto his face. "It's too much, Ron. I'm caving under the pressure. Help. Help me, Ron."

"Hmm..." Ron put a hand to his chin, contorting his face up in what was probably thought. Only for a moment did he hold that pose, before raising his hand and pointing at the ceiling. Don't ask. "Aha. I believe I've got it."

Harry lifted an eyebrow as Ron leaned in towards him, very, very closely, until their noses were almost touching and their gazes were locked upon one another.

"It's time for something special."


End file.
